His Narcissa
by driftinginclouds
Summary: Excerpt: Their eyes then simply stared at each other, one lost in the stunning grey and the other in stunning green. They had revealed parts of their souls to each other – to their foe. They had succumbed to defeat, and so why should it matter if they further dropped to their knees? (One-Shot. Narcissa/Harry. Warning: Mature Subject Matter)


_Author's Note: Hey! So I was suffering from the dreaded Writer's Block, and I decided to write this to unclog my brain. The pairing is Narcissa/Harry, contrary to my other fic where Harry is paired with Bellatrix. This story also sort of follows canon. It's a one-shot, and well I hope you enjoy reading it. But beware, for it's full of angst, though it does have sort of a happy ending. _

_Anyway, enjoy! _

* * *

**May 2, 1996**

Narcissa had smirked painfully as she was spiraled to the ground. Her blonde hair was now a tangled mess, and there were red stains across her temple, for blood had begun to drizzle down her forehead, while her grey pools stared up at the male before her as he held his wand before her chest.

Both remembered how they would threaten each other playfully countless of times. "I'll kill you," she would state after he would speak darkly of her son. Harry would then return the same comment, and they'd start bickering before their lips would be pressed against each other's, both fuming with rage, with want, with desire, and a little bit of something else.

One day, they had both known they would lose each other.

And that day had come, but neither had known they would die at each other's hands.

"She's watching, Harry," Narcissa whispered. "Finish it," she mouthed.

"I can't."

* * *

**December 18, 1994**

A Muggle owner of a desolate bar stood before stands of liquor, behind a counter, and his eyes turned concerned when a young male walked in. After he took in his customer's disheveled appearance, he spoke: "Sir?" said the bartender. "Please. Please take a seat, and I'll bring you the menu."

"Harry will do," the young male replied, slightly surprised the place even had a menu. "And thank you."

Harry was seated and within a few minutes he ordered his drink. As he waited for his drink, he noticed a woman far off in a corner with her back towards him. Her golden locks were contrived into a bun while a bottle of a Muggle brand of whiskey was placed atop her table. Soft sobs were escaping her lips while she hugged her fur-coat tighter around herself. It was a surprising sight to behold, for such a woman of such wealth should have not been seen in such a forlorn place.

His drink arrived, and after a glass or two, he conjured enough boldness to rise from his seat. Steps were taken forth. He heard his pulse within his ears, while an odd feeling crept within him, as though he had seen the woman somewhere before – the sleek blonde hair, her beautiful frame and small waist. "Excuse me?" he whispered as he arrived before her. "Are you okay, madam?"

The woman slightly flinched, feeling surprised by the sudden voice. Slowly, she turned around, and her lips parted open, while her brows began to furrow as she took in the identity of the inquirer.

Meanwhile, Harry felt as though his feet had been fastened onto the dusty wooden floor below. He viewed those unmistakable grey eyes – once cold, detached, now hurt and showing vulnerability, the pink full lips, and her immaculate skin. "Mrs. Malfoy?" he finally found his voice, whispering, simply aghast.

They were foes and rivals.

Narcissa's expression began to express mortification. Her cheeks turned red, as never had any mortal seen her so broken, so shattered, and for such a person to be the-boy-who-lived of all people…

She was further stunned.

The boy had the audacity to place his hand on hers, to tell her he would not tell a soul of what he had seen. He heard him whisper, stuttering due to being inebriated but more wise than ever, "I know. It's hard."

Green eyes looked into her grey pools. The boy – now a young male, as old as her son – was now sitting before her, his hand on her hand, his thumb rubbing small circles against her skin. She stared at his emerald orbs, and comprehension dawned on her, as she realized something she had seen in Draco's eyes when he had once been smitten with the Parkinsons' girl. But no, these eyes did not belong to a boy, for they were a man's, and they caused her to lose her equilibrium.

"You were just a boy," she whispered before she could stop herself.

A painful smile was elicited, and it lingered as he commenced to speak in a soft voice, disregarding her statement: "I'm tired of being the Chosen One, but I understand that I must still fight, perhaps not for me, but for my loved ones, my friends, my parents. Nevertheless, it's hard, Mrs. Malfoy, knowing you have no control over your fate." Narcissa found herself intently listening, while Harry noticed her slightly wince when he had said 'no control over your fate'. "I didn't want to be seen this way," he continued, "so I came here, to a place where I expected to see not one soul from our world, and I'm presuming it's the same reason you came here, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa did not respond, but her stillness was enough of an answer.

He smiled, looked at the bartender who stood behind the counter, reading a book. "A few more bottles of whiskey please!" he shouted.

Then, after a few drinks, _many_ more drinks, Narcissa finally spoke, answering a question he had asked hours ago: "I came here to stop seeing my husband break, to stop seeing my son shatter… to stop them from seeing me _break_ and _shatter_, Mr. Potter," she whispered, hiccuping slightly, inebriated, losing all control, all sense.

Their eyes then simply stared at each other, one lost in the stunning grey and the other in stunning green. They had revealed parts of their souls to each other – to their foe. They had succumbed to defeat, and so why should it matter if they further dropped to their knees? Consequently, their faces neared, his hands cupped her face, gently pulling it nearer to his, and a small faint kiss was placed on her lips. When the kiss deepened, he felt her pearly white teeth before she allowed him to feel more, then he tasted whisky, dark chocolate swirled with saltiness.

She had been crying.

He arose from the seat, ending the kiss. Narcissa looked away, shame-faced. _I'm sorry, _Harry wanted to whisper, not knowing why, but instead he sauntered towards her, lifted her off her seat, and held her waist as they walked out of the bar.

Then, they had found a hotel. A room. Rekindled the kiss until it provoked a yearning much greater.

Narcissa was fixed next to a wall while Harry's hands hastily unfastened her brassier, then felt her soft skin. His lips pressed against her erect nipples, kissing them before he returned to kiss away the tears lashing down her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered as he stared into her grey pools, letting silence fall. And as their eyes locked in that brief moment of silence, they both slowly came to realize how much they wanted this – to feel each other, to drown in each other's eyes.

"For how long?" Narcissa queried, breaking the spell.

Harry cupped her breast and a soft moan left her lips. "_Years_," he replied, and his fingers then skidded down her waist, pushed down her silken underwear.

"_Harry?" _she whispered, uttering his name for the first time, feeling stunned by his response, while he picked her up, straddling her waist, and placed her on top of the bed.

Once mounted on top of her, his knees near her thighs, his hands near her head, he looked down at her face as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt with her slender hands. "Yes," he whispered when she had begun to feel his abs. "It was an obsession that started when I first saw you with your so–_Draco_. I… you were my first crush," he admitted, his cheeks reddening. "And you?" he then asked, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck while she removed his shirt.

Her eyes sealed, as she wondered when it had began – when she had first desired to drown into the green of his eyes. "I… " Narcissa spoke, uncertain, "when I saw you purchasing new robes from Madam Malkins..."

With that, Harry's fingers began to dance on her mound, making her softly moan. They both knew how iniquitous this was, for not only was he her foe and she was married, but he was also a boy of almost sixteen years.

Her son's age.

His fingers travelled along her skin, stopped at her waist. Her cheeks reddened, as she realized what he had been observing. "You're beautiful – It's beautiful, don't worry," he whispered, referring to the faint stretch marks on the skin above her womb.

A tear fell from her eye. And though she should have known by now how keen the emerald-eyed male was, when she heard his next words – "Don't listen to _him_... "– her manicured nails dug into his back, pleading without uttering a word for him to enter.

So she could feel. Just this.

* * *

**May 2, 1996**

"I can't," Harry had whispered.

He was now shaking his head, tears falling from his eyes, his wand falling to the floor and before he knew it, a stream of light was casted his way. He knew what it was: The Killing Curse. "Thank you, Cissy dear," Harry heard a voice, a sardonic voice, which if not hardened by years of imprisoned in Azkaban, would have sounded almost like his beloved's. "For getting fucked by him," Bellatrix continued.

He closed his eyes while a member of the Order walked into the room, and the wizard's eyes enlarged, as the green light was about to hit the Chosen One. Only it didn't, for a woman had risen from the ground, staggering and bruised as she had shielded Harry from the curse.

"NO!" Lupin heard Harry scream. "No–No–No," he cried, as he shook his head, but it was too late.

There was no breath, no pulse, and no heartbeat. She was dead upon contact.

The wand in Bellatrix's hand fell from her hold, and her disguise of indifference likewise fell when her sister's lifeless body began to drop to the ground.

Harry's large, strong but trembling arms wrapped around the corpse's waist, halting it from hitting the ground, while tears continued to gush from his emerald eyes. "Don't," he mumbled, choking, "Don't leave me," he murmured, as he shook the blonde in his arm, then continued to whisper to her in soft mutters to come back to life.

In the distance, Harry heard a thump. Gazing upwards, he found Bellatrix on the ground – dead, while a familiar face stared down at him with concern. "For how long?" Lupin whispered.

The young male did not reply, he continued to shake his head in fervor, while he pressed his lips against soft, immobile pink ones, wishing to breathe life into the lifeless woman in his arms. A hand was then pressed gently against his back, while his ear was nestled against Narcissa's chest, as he deliriously waited for a heartbeat.

A thud.

"Harry," he heard the werewolf whisper, "you still have to fight."

* * *

**May 6, 1996**

Three long weary days had passed by. The Burrow was still, the grandfather clock in the corner was ticking when hoots were heard, but Harry need not be awakened, for he already was. He hadn't slept at all for those seventy-two hours since the last battle had been fought and won.

It would have been a lie if he had said he had been exultant when it had happened. While others had cheered, while they had embrace, while Hermione and Ron had kissed, confessing their love for one another, Harry had yearned for soft arms around him, blonde hair under his chin.

The owl, regal and refined, reserved and hostile, sat himself against the window-still of what had once been Bill's room, and waited for Harry to rise from his bed and retrieve the letter addressed to him. Groaning, Harry grabbed his eyeglasses (a new, chic pair a Muggle-born optician had sent to him through O.W.L, after having heard that the-Chosen-Boy's pair had been shattered during the battle), and began to slowly march towards the owl. "Where'd you come from?" he groggily mumbled, referring to the owner of the owl. "Haven't seen you anywhere," he whispered, as the owl lifted his foot, and blinked at him several times.

Once the letter was within Harry's hold, the owl needn't be bewitched to answer Harry, for the seal on the envelope already had.

Draco – Draco Malfoy.

Narcissa's son.

With a trembling hand, he opened the letter, and his emerald eyes intently focused as he read silently to himself:

_Lord Harry Potter, _

_Lord Draco Malfoy would wish to extend to you an invitation to attend the funeral of his recently departed mother, Lady Narcissa Malfoy. The processions will begin at 9:00 of Sunday this week and end at 10:30. _

A thin smile appeared on his face as he recalled a memory.

_"Contrary to what you may believe, Harry. My son is nothing like his father," Narcissa replied as she took out lasagna from the oven at Grimmauld Place. The aroma of the dish she had created filled the kitchen while Kreacher stood with wide-eyes at a corner, ire brimming through his veins as he observed Narcissa with his Master, Harry Potter. He then muttered small curses under his breath, while his arms were intertwined, as he watched Harry do a little dance out of excitement at the tray of lasagna – an act, which produced a small chuckle from Narcissa's pink lips. _

_She placed the lasagna on top of the dinner table and rubbed her hands on the floral apron. They then stared at each other – green into grey – for a few seconds. "So tell me," Harry began as he seated himself, about to cut into the lasagna with a knife when Narcissa zapped his hands away. _

_"Potter, I told you to wait," she hissed, as she sat beside him. _

_Harry, huffing in, continued to speak, while folding his hands before him, "So tell me, how that git is more like you, Cissy?" _

_Narcissa smiled tenderly, as she neared her face to Harry's. "Well, for one, Harry," she began, "much like me, he likes to cook the Muggle way."_

_"Now, how exactly did you learn to cook the 'Muggle way'?" Harry asked, still surprised by how Narcissa was so adept at using an oven and Muggle kitchen equipment. _

_Her grey eyes widened. "Why, the telly of course!" As she then grabbed a knife, and commenced to cut the now tender but not extremely hot lasagna, she added, "And don't you dare call my son a 'git', Potter. Next time, I will kill you, if it is the very last thing I do!"_

_'Mmm'_, Harry thought, as he placed the letter on top of his desk, and heard the hoots of the owl as it left the Burrow.

Draco was very much like his mother.

* * *

**May 11, 1996 **

"Thank you, Malfoy," Harry whispered. "For inviting me, I mean."

Silence then commenced as the two remained before the casket. Draco nodded faintly, his hands on the edges of the coffin. Everyone had left, and only him and Harry had remained inside the hall within the large Malfoy Manor.

"She… She looks just the same," Harry mumbled, amazed by her rosy cheeks, long golden eyelashes, and her hair that had been curled and lay gently at her sides. She merely looked asleep – in a form Harry had found her in when he'd wake up by her side. Draco had made sure his mother looked like Narcissa not Mrs. or Lady Malfoy.

"Yes," Draco whispered, his voice taciturn. "A charm," he explained.

Harry nodded, and likewise like her son, he restrained his tears, not letting the other male show how weak he truly was. "You asked me to stay, Malfoy?" he then said, his voice firm though soft. "Why?"

Draco's head bent low, and he avoided Harry's emerald-eyes. "You loved her?"

"Of course."

"Very much?"

"Yes."

Draco sighed. "And would you love her child, as well?"

Harry's brows furrowed in bewilderment. "I do not love you Draco the way I loved your mother, but I … I care for you for Narcissa's–"

"No, Potter," Draco hissed in exasperation, oddly resembling Narcissa. "I was not asking you if loved me in such a manner, you fool." A small smirk then arose on his pointed face, as he turned around from his immobile mother to face the dark-haired male. "My, Potter. You are still an idiot, aren't you?" he asked a still bewildered Harry, while shaking his head. Then, his expression turned back stern: "Now answer me, Potter. Would you love a child born from your... association with my mother?"

An image of a child with dimples, a head of blonde hair, and bright grey eyes arose in the sanctuary of Harry's mind. A small smile danced on his face – _if only – _he thought. A family consisting of Narcissa, him, and their child was a dream that Harry and Narcissa had known would never be feasible, and now could never be dreamed of. He nodded feebly, and whispered darkly, "Must you ask such a question?" while he stared at her seemingly sleeping within the casket.

"Yes, Potter," he heard a response from Draco, and his voice had been strangely… soft. Harry then heard the blond male take in a sharp breath before he continued, and what was said next changed Harry's world forever, added meaning to his life – a life he had pondered of taking.

Draco had said: "Because such a child exists."

Jaws slightly ajar, feeling dazed, Harry almost collapsed, but held best to his composer. "The still-born?" he asked.

"A lie," Draco stated. "A lie to save face." His grey eyes – grey like his mother's then downcasted when he spoke again to a bewildered but more than exultant Harry, "She is not my father's. The girl is yours. She has your hair and eyes."

* * *

**August 31, 1995 **

"This must end," Narcissa's voice was full of fright, of terror, of anxiety. Harry tried to plant a kiss against her lips, but she squirmed, and pushed him away. "I can't. We can't continue this," she mumbled, tears soaking her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as she sealed her eyes, and after brushing her golden locks with her slender fingers, she turned towards the fireplace, choosing to use the Floo network rather than Apparating as usual.

However, little did Harry know Narcissa had left him for reasons more than their different alliances, she had left him for she believed a certain burden could not be placed on a boy of sixteen years.

He could not be a father, and even if he was ready, not with Narcissa _Malfoy_.

A month later, after Harry had read in the Daily Prophet that the Lady Narcissa Malfoy was expecting her second, Harry had felt cold, numb, while he wished for the child to have been his and not _his. _

And until the 2nd of May 1996, the two did not meet

* * *

**April 7, 1996**

Her palms were set against the cold window. It was an awfully chilly morning for spring. She let her hands drop to her sides, before wrapping them around her swollen waist. While gently rubbing her abdomen, she hummed soothing nursery rhymes she had sung to Draco when he had been in her womb, and when he had been an infant.

Only, this child didn't seep to appreciate them.

She sighed, placed her hand on the strained arch of her back, and sat down on an ornate sofa in one of the study rooms. Grabbing a Muggle book (Pride and Prejudice), she began to flip through the pages, tried to immerse herself into another world, but it was hard to do so when the child was unrelenting, moving and kicking in her womb. "Now what is it?" she hissed, as she pressed her palm against her swollen belly and felt a blow. After placing the book back on top the desk, Narcissa felt a peculiar feeling of warmth between her thighs, a sensation she hadn't felt in nearly seventeen years.

Her lips formed into an 'O' as she stared at the pool of water that had soaked the cushion of the sofa. Trembling she rose up from the sofa, and began to walk towards the fireplace, about to call the midwife when she heard a knocking on the door, and then the hinges as they creaked. Her attention whirled around to where the noises had issued, and she found her ebony-haired sister enter the study room. Her sister's dark eyes gazed with bewilderment at her form, bent and on its knees before the fireplace, and then they travelled to the cushion where a large, fresh wet stain lingered.

Narcissa had by now turned her attention back to the fireplace, but the midwife did not answer. The child was coming earlier than expected, for the due date had been around the end of April. Anxiety began to consume Narcissa, she began to tremble and fidget, while she felt a hand press against her shoulder. "Cissy?" she heard Bella mumble, nonchalantly. "Will you stop being so terribly pathetic? Get up now, you have given birth before to that idiot of yours, so stop squirming like a wounded hound."

A small nod was given. Narcissa rose from the ground, her knees pressed and red from the Persian carpet they had been pushed against. She noticed her water was still gushing from between her thighs. Bellatrix's nose wrinkled upwards in disgust, as she held Narcissa's hand. "Come," the brunette said sternly, and pulled Narcissa out of the study room, taking her into a nearby guest room with a bed.

From the distance, Narcissa suddenly heard footsteps – Draco's footsteps. Her eyebrows coiled, and a faint sigh left her lips, while Bellatrix helped get her into bed. "Draco?!" Narcissa called, and her son immediately caught the tremor in her voice.

"Mother?" he called back. "Where are you?"

Draco had come home for the Easter Holidays, and Narcissa couldn't be further pleased to have her son by her side. "In here, dear!" she yelled. "The guest room."

Bellatrix hissed slightly at her dark mark before proclaiming, "I must go, and I will inform our Lord you are not capable of attending the meeting." She turned around to Draco who had just entered the bedroom. "Go you fool, fetch one of those wretched house-elves and inform them to bring a midwife."

Draco winced as he heard his mother groan. He nodded hastily while Bellatrix Apparated with a simple 'pop' out of the guest bedroom. Running towards his mother, he stooped down and made sure she was comfortable where she lay. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "Water? A drink?"

She shook her head frantically while a tear drizzled down her cheek. "I can't do this alone."

"I'm here Mother," Draco assured, and held his mother's hand while brushing strands of hair away from her face with his other one, but his mother shook her head again, then burrowed deeper into the mattress as her first contraction hit. Her hold on his hand instantly tightened and she cried, muttering incomprehensible words: "Can't…Draco… Without him… " Then two silvery droplets escaped from her grey pools, before she began again: "He will kill…Him...Won't...He..."

"Mother," Draco whispered, knowing women in labor weren't their sanest. "I'll go inform one of the house-elves to fetch a midwife."

Narcissa shook her head, holding harder to Draco. "Too late," she cried. The child was persistent and determined, had Harry's spirit. The thought caused a smile to form on her face before another contraction hit, and she writhed. Suddenly, her legs folded together, her hands snuggled against her face, and she began to sob, whispering and muttering hysterically, "Draco… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… So sorry… "

"Mother?!" Draco inquired, anxious. He tried to pull her arms, to unveil her face, but she continued to shake her head, simply delirious. "Mummy?" he mumbled, slipping into what he had called her when he had been a child. "Please, look at me. I'm here. I love you. I love you, Mum. What is it? Tell me. I love you," he whispered, then went onwards to mumble 'I love you' a hundred more times, in an attempt to reassure her that she could reveal whatever she was holding within.

Narcissa let out a sharp gasp, while her body yearned for her to push, but she couldn't… simply couldn't. Instantly, Draco rose from the seat and turned towards her trembling and folded legs, unable to bear seeing her in so much pain. "Mummy, please," he whispered, as he tried to push apart her legs. Narcissa was weak, she relented, and when Draco saw the little head between her legs, he realized what she had been keeping clandestine.

The child had a head of black hair.

Tears welled in his eyes. Draco was angered by her for bringing this shame upon their family, infuriated by her for never telling him, for breaking before his eyes for nine months while he wondered why she had turned so feeble, so delicate, so _pathetic_ as Bellatrix would always say. While finding his voice, while a sniffle escaped, he whispered: "Mother… Mother, I know. Now please, _push_."

Eyes sealed shut, she pushed, and when she heard the sweet sound of life, the sound of her daughter's first breath, she let out a relieved sigh.

Draco cut the umbilical cord with a pair of scissors he had found in one of the cupboards, and brought the wriggling child to Narcissa's arms. The child had alert eyes, already green unlike the baby blue Draco's had been. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and out of disgrace Narcissa's head bent, unable to look at whom had entered, whether it was a house-elf, Bellatrix… or Lucius.

"You fool, I had asked you to–" Bella's voice dropped and faltered as she viewed the child wrapped in Narcissa's arms. A pool of blood lay beneath her sister's feet, and her blonde hair was dampened with sweat, as was her face. "_Well_, " Bellatrix whispered, and though she had been slightly dazed at first, she had recaptured her usual composure. "Take the child, Draco," she commanded.

Narcissa held the healthy and vigorous babe snug against her chest, holding it, clenching it with all her life. "Please Bella..." she mumbled, and though exhausted and weak, she persisted to hold the child as firmly as she could. "Please... don't. A minute more."

But her sister's face was hard, cold and stern. "Take the child, Draco," she repeated, "for it is still-born."

* * *

**May 11, 1996 **

"I kept her, couldn't give her away," Draco whispered. "She stayed at a cottage with a nurse, and I brought her back right after…" he stopped speaking, but Harry knew he was referring to the battle – the battle in which they both had lost so much. And it was most peculiar, odd, knowing Draco and he shared much more in common than he did with Hermione, Ron, or anyone else for that matter.

He followed Draco up the lavish staircases of Malfoy Manor. The paintings of Draco's predecessors were on the walls. Harry viewed one that caught his attention – "Is that?"

"Yes, my mother," Draco responded before Harry could finish. When they arrived to the second story, Draco led Harry into a room at the very end. A house-elf appeared, her animated eyes gawked at Draco with fear and slight adoration. "Izzy has put the child to sleep, Master."

Draco nodded, before dismissing the house-elf, and Harry's pulse rose as he took steps forward.

Her child.

His child.

Their child.

He could not hide the shiver in his lips, the trembling of his hands or the quickening of his pace as he neared the chamber. When he reached it, Draco pushed the door and Harry was stunned to find a guest-room, and not a crib or any sort of furniture signifying an infant was within this room. "Where is she?" he whispered.

Draco pointed with his eyes at a bed, at a small bundle placed between two large pillows, and explained, "Haven't had much time to buy her things, you see."

Harry did not respond, his feet had begun to move automatically, and his lips began to thin as bittersweet memories ascended into his mind. 'Cissy… You should have told me…' he thought to himself, as he reached the little bundle wrapped in a pink blanket, and delicately placed a quivering hand against the child's soft, round cheek, not really knowing what to do. Immediately, the infant wriggled and roused, her eyes awakened, and green eyes stared at green beneath long, dark lashes.

She was beautiful.

And save for her dark hair and emerald eyes, she looked very much like Narcissa.

_His_ _Narcissa_.

"I love you," Harry whispered, both to his little girl and her departed mother, while his hand was still placed softly against her cheek.

A small smile appeared on the babe's round face, it seemed she returned the sentiment, and as she beamed, so did he. "Narcissa," he instantly murmured. "Your name is Narcissa, m'love – Narcissa Lily Potter." And with that, Harry Potter tenderly picked the infant up from between the two pillows securing her, placed the softest of kisses against her forehead, and restrained tears at last escaped his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, I hope you enjoyed reading that. I know I enjoyed writing it. I love Narcissa and the Black sisters, and I always find them to be intriguing characters. Anyhow, if you have anything to say, please do leave a review. It means a lot to a writer to have someone critiquing their work, and helping them hone their skills.


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